


Here and now

by Saphirott



Series: Little Things [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Exhibitionism, First Time, M/M, One Shot, Public Sex, Soulless Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2020-01-07 13:36:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18411719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saphirott/pseuds/Saphirott
Summary: Sam's tired of waiting. He wants something and he wants it now. One shot





	Here and now

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> Here I bring you a new translation of another of my stories. All the mistakes are mine, my English is still not very good but I hope there will be less and less... I'm still looking for someone who wants to be my beta reader. If any of you want to take pity on me, just tell me. 
> 
> Okay, that's it. I hope you like it

Here and now  
By: Saphirott

 

“Can't we wait till we get to the motel to do this?,” he asks with annoyance taking a quick look around. “Look at this place... God, I think the cure is worse than the disease.” And on his face there's an expression that moves between disbelief and disgust. 

It is not for nothing, it is not that they are accustomed to luxuries, in fact, they could say that already few things surprise them as for improvised shelters, godforsacken rooms and even occupied houses whose habitability and security was more than doubtful, but it is that this place...

They're in the middle of nowhere, somewhere between Kanab and Provo, in the middle of Fishlake Forest in fucking Utah. What were they doing there? Running after that wendigo bastard who by the time they heard from him had already killed five people. It took four days to locate him and a whole night until they finally managed to make a good bonfire with the damn bastard who got in a fight and that's why they're here right now. 

“What the fuck is this place?” He protests again. 

“Come on Dean. Stop complaining at once. Get over there," he says, pointing to a wall where a fluorescent is blinking insecurely, "I need some light to see that.” 

“No, seriously, Sam. What the fuck?”

“I don't know, Dean!,” interrumps impatient, “It looks like the remains of an abandoned campsite, a dressing room or something like that. What's the difference? Now you need a sterile camp to feel safe? Move, we don't have all day.” 

“Hey," Dean protests, pointing a finger at Jared's chest. "Don't talk to me like that, no matter how big you are I can still beat you up with one hand tied behind my back. Do you understand that, squirt? 

Dean's eyes glow defiantly but his lips curl into a rogue smile that revives something that has been forging inside Sam for a long time, that something that led him to insist on stopping there.

“Of course, whatever you say," he replies reluctantly, pushing his brother's body slightly in the right direction. 

Dean lets himself be done, walks carefully, avoiding things thrown, stains and puddles from something he prefers not to know. It smells of moisture, mildew and concentrated urine, and as he had thought when they came in, it reaches the top ten of the worst places they've ever been. He doesn't understand why Sam's determination to do this now, it's not that bad, it's been much worse other times, he could perfectly endure getting to the motel, that without taking into account that they were traveling with someone. 

Lately he doesn't understand much about Sam. It's strange, but there's something about him that keeps him alert, that makes him distrust him and honestly, that feeling is shit because Sam has been the only reliable thing in his life, the only authentic thing, his refuge and his home. It's something in his eyes, in his way of speaking and behaving; he looks like Sam, he moves like him and his voice is the same, but somehow, it's not Sam. And that disturbed him, because he has done all the tests that rule out possessions, metamorphic or other supernatural consequences, giving him an answer that doesn't seem the right one but that is true, it is Sam. 

But now is not the time to feed all those ramblings that have been keeping him awake for days. He discards from his mind all those thoughts and focuses on obeying Sam’s order and do away of it once and for all, to see if they can get out of there soon and breathe a salubrious air for their lungs again. 

“Am I ok here, Dr. Sexy?,” he asks ironically under the trembling source of light. 

“You crack me up, Dean," he replies reluctantly, "take off your jacket," he continues, picking up the backpack he had on his shoulder and rummaging inside until he finds the material he needs to take care of his brother's injuries. 

 

Dean obeys, looking around skeptically for someplace where his precious jacket won't be irreparably damaged. He smiles triumphantly as he locates a hanger still anchored to the wall a couple of metres away. When he turns around, Sam is practically on top of him, gauze and alcohol in his hands and a disturbing smile on his face. 

“What are you doing?,” his voice reaches a more surprised tone than he would like to show. Sam raises a funny eyebrow and tries to give that smile an innocent touch that is not enough at all. 

“Uhmm..., trying to cure you?” He answers sarcastically, "What's the matter Dean? Now you're afraid of a little alcohol? If you want I can blow your wounds...” His eyes distil fun, but they shine with a darker tone than normal. 

“Screw you..., bitch” He grunts trying to increase the distance between them a little, but failing to hit their back against the cold surface of the wall. 

“Come on, we don't take all day.” 

Dean watches him for a few seconds, frowning and a sharp look, trying to figure out why his warning instincts sound in his head like he's in the middle of a fucking alarm fair. Sam seems to wait patiently, until he finally gives in, pulls his shirt back a bit and shows him the deep cut that starts from the base of the hair on his neck and almost ends up in the bone of his collarbone. 

“It's no big deal," he says in a reassuring tone, in response to the deep panting that escapes from Jared's lips, "I've had much worse wounds.” 

If Dean looked at that moment at the dark storm that was swirling in his brother's eyes, he would have begun to doubt that this panting had anything to do with the severity of his wound. 

“Be still," he says, in a low, dry tone, as he spills a generous stream of hydrogen peroxide that carries away the remnants of sand, blood and sweat that he removes with the help of gauze. “Now comes the fun, ready?”

Dean nods and clenches his teeth, failing to contain the hiss of his itchy skin, when Sam changes the hydrogen peroxide for alcohol.

“Motherfucker!,” he exclaims without being able to contain himself, provoking a chuckle to Sam. 

“Shall I blow you?,” he mocks. 

“You'd better get the fuck out of here," he replied, angry.

Sam laughs and ignores him, meticulously following the cleanliness, wasting alcohol as if it were a gift. "The bastard is enjoying it," thinks Dean who, suddenly, has seen cut off his intention to give his little brother a hit when the idiot has started to blow the wound, and the reason why he has stopped, has been the surprise that has left him paralyzed at the site when Sam's lips have rested on his skin. 

Time seems to have stood still in contrast to the unleashed speed with which his neurons seem to be struggling to find a logical answer to what has just happened. Has Sam kissed him? Sam? His brother? The stinging of his neck brings him back to reality, where his brother continues to clean his wound with an astonishing tranquillity. 

“What was that?” he asks between confused and angry. 

Sam looks at him with a funny smile on his lips and an air of sufficiency on his face, while he continues cleaning the wound and ignoring him with a brazenness that only irritates him. Dean stops the wiping hand, holding it firmly by the wrist as he searches defiantly for his brother's gaze. 

“Sam...,” warns. 

But Sam doesn't seem to be affected by the tone, and the only answer he gets is to see his little brother's hyper-developed body rise up, projecting itself before his eyes in a certainly intimidating way. He's starting to get overwhelmed because, isn't he too close? And when the hell did it start to get so hot? He looks for his eyes again and they look at him with the sufficiency of a predator who is certain that his prey will not be able to escape. 

“What do you think it was?,” he asks in a hoarse voice, looking at him in a way that Dean feels goes through his soul. 

“I know what has been,” respond defensive. “What I want to know is why it happened.

“You didn't like, Dean?” The words slip between his lips in a dark and dangerous tone, an attitude that reminds him of that Sam who is capable of making the toughest of demons confess and who is not at all the Sam that only he knows and is used to dealing with. 

“Don't you want me to repeat it?” He asks, looking directly into his eyes and letting the palm of his still free hand rest on his hip, causing a current of heat to slide down his back as all the muscles in his stomach contract in a way that Sam must have felt. 

Dean's mind boils like a pressure cooker. What the hell is he saying? What if he wants...? What? Fuck! Thousands of things come to his head, moments throughout his life, hidden glances, repressed feelings, drowned during nights and sleepless nights, because what he feels is wrong, it can't happen, it's never going to happen. And now..., now this can't be happening, it's not real. No... And... what the hell does Sam think is so funny? 

Sam has not moved an inch while all this diatribe develops in his head, well yes, the thumb of the hand he keeps on his hip, has slipped under the fabric of the shirt and now caresses his skin in small circles, something that is not helping him at all to think. 

Dean seems to be speechless and Sam can't stop looking at him with a mixture of curiosity and fun. His brother seems to be debating in an internal struggle, and he knows it's not fair to have put him in that situation, but that doesn't make him care. Something is wrong with him, he knows it; he hasn't figured out what he is yet, but he feels different, somehow liberated. Since he escaped from the cage he has become more skillful, more logical, more effective. The only important thing is to achieve his objectives, without distractions, without ballast. 

His goal now is Dean. 

It's something that has been on his mind for days, a desire that has grown every night when, after the shower, Dean comes out of the bathroom alone with this towel holding precariously at his waist; when he moistens those lips, which he finds delicious, before he talks and every time he walks, because those walks should be forbidden. He has tried to restrain himself, not because he thinks it is wrong, but because he knows that Dean does, and he knows that this will make him suspect, in fact, he is clear that he already suspects, that he mistrusts him. But he's tired, he wants it and he wants it now. 

The feeling is not new to him, he knows that his old self has always felt much more than a brother's affection for Dean and are aware of that hard battle he has always fought with himself, just as he knows that his brother was in a similar situation.

Brothers, family. You can't. Norms, prejudices. It's wrong... 

Why is it wrong if they want it? Who cares? Who are they accountable to? No, Sam is no longer interested in all those moral dilemmas, maybe they should, but they really don't, and he's glad of that. That's why he didn't feel bad when he saw his brother walking towards him, with that satisfied attitude, covered in sweat and blood after killing the Wendigo; his body reacted with an erection that at another time would have embarrassed him and at that moment only annoyed him, because the girl they had just rescued, prevented him from taking charge of the situation. 

The girl..., a young blonde who must have been cute when she was a normal girl, and now she was just a waste of tremors and tears clinging to him like a limpet. Well, he supposed that he was behaving in a logical way, after all, she had escaped being the dinner of a bug that had already digested three of his camping companions; but Sam, could only see her right now as an obstacle in his way. 

With great effort, he got rid of her in the back seat of the Impala and took his place without hiding his annoying face at all, although a euphoric Dean for the hunt was not aware of the situation. They started out for civilization and Sam convinced himself that he would have to wait for a better chance, but when, after an hour's journey, they passed that abandoned place and a quick glance at the rear-view mirror, he showed the girl deeply asleep behind him, his hopes increased just as his desire again did, and he convinced Dean to stop. 

And here they were, he had made a move, but Dean didn't seem determined to play along, so it was time to take control. A slight movement and he's a little closer, the heat of both mixes and it's highly exciting. Dean doesn't take his eyes off him with that same questioning expression he's had for a while, but his eyes glow with another feeling. 

Expectation. 

Yes, his brother is expecting something. He could have pushed him, yelled at him, insulted him and even kicked his ass. Oh, yes, Sam has no doubt that if Dean proposed, he could still kick his ass. But no, Dean doesn't do anything, he just waits. Sam smiles inside and his eyes are half-closed, focusing on those half-open lips that powerfully draw his attention. 

Thick, fluffy, so kissable... He feels his passion growing almost painfully and finds it a morbid pleasure in to bring to his brother's attention the situation in which he finds himself. With a sudden movement, he pushes his hips on Jensen’s thigh which corresponds to a similar movement of his forwards. 

Sam looks into his eyes and can see that he is giving in, breaking his ties and somehow challenging him. His hand slides along the waistband of the pants and without losing sight of that green that seems to challenge him to see how far he is able to go, undoes the button and, very slowly, slides the zipper down. 

A pleased grunt escapes his lips as he appreciates Dean's semi-erect dick, still partly trapped by the fabric of the trousers. 

“And well, little brother... What do you plan to do about it?” Dean's thick, hoarse voice surprises him and brings his attention back to his face. His eyes glow defiantly and his lips curl in that scoundrel smile Sam has seen ravaging bars for more nights than he can remember. 

“What do you want me to do?,” he asks, continuing that game that has just begun. 

“Ah, no..., this was your business. You start it...” His eyes now much darker as well as his voice... “You finish it...”

And that's all Sam needs. The starting gun for the locomotive that aims to wipe out everything in its path. Carelessly, he catches those lips that have his name written on them, mistreating them with a fierceness that he doesn't want to contain, trying to subdue them, but without achieving it at all because Dean only takes a couple of seconds to react and lend himself to that battle with his own desire. 

The temperature rises and the bodies warm up motivated by the uncontrolled friction that seeks to provoke, to tempt. Sam's hands get lost under Jensen's t-shirt, igniting rivers of lava on his skin as he passes by. Dean pant over his lips and that craves the hottest thing he has ever heard in his life. There's too much clothing and too little skin, and he tries to fix that when the sound of something distracts them. The two separate, albeit only slightly, and remain still, sharpening their ears, alert. 

The girl is paralyzed, hiding on the other side of the door that led to that kind of wardrobe. The nightmares woke her up and for a few moments, she felt misplaced in the back seat of that Impala. Then it all came to her mind, the nightmare days, the appearance of those boys who said they were brothers and who were busy hunting monsters. At another time she would have laughed, but she had already seen the monsters, at least one. And it was horrible. 

Terrified and painful of cold, she got up in the seat of that car. It was still night and they were standing in the middle of nowhere. She was alone, not a trace of those boys, and the fear returned. What if they had abandoned her? What if something had happened to them? What was she going to do? The car keys were gone and there was nothing around them except that building that seemed abandoned. It took her about fifteen minutes to make up her mind, but maybe those guys were there and she really didn't want to be there alone. 

She regretted it the very moment she put her first foot in that place, and was about to return to the car, but the glow of a flickering light and the muffled sound of some voices made her continue. She would never have imagined that he was faced with such a situation and the surprise made her stumble upon something that immediately fell, causing a small roar that the empty walls intensified. 

“What was that?” She heard the one she identified as the eldest of the two boys.  
“It must have been a rat," replied the other with disinterest. 

“Wait, wait... What if it's the girl?” 

She can't help but hold her breath because she doesn't know anything about these guys either and she doesn't know how they can react if they see her there. 

“Come on, Dean. The girl is sleeping, with all that has happened I wouldn't be surprised if she slept three days in a row. You can't hear anything anymore, it must have been any bug. Do you really want to keep wasting your time with that? I can think of a lot of better things to do...” 

And the girl notices how the tone of the tallest boy has gone down an octave.

“No...” He hears the other respond in a similar tone, which removes something inside him. “I don't want to waste any more time, Sammy. I've already lost too much of it.”

And she knows that she should go, she should go back to the car and give intimacy to those two, who now doubt if she understood well or not that they were brothers. But she can't, there's something hypnotic in that force, that energy that's unleashed before her eyes. Her gaze is lost along that tangle of transpired skin, tense muscles that move in precise harmony. It's not just sex, you can tell from afar that there's something else there, that it's something important, and somehow you feel lucky to be a witness to all that. 

“Fuck…” It's the only thing Dean feels able to say as he tries to regulate his breathing, squeezing his palms against those dirty tiles, ignoring the repulsion they produce, to the benefit of his lack of confidence that his knees can hold him now. 

“Yes, fuck...” it's the tired answer he hears on his shoulder. 

Teeth scratch his neck and he is surprised that his body can still react with a shiver of that intensity. He can still feel Sam inside and thinks he's going to be feeling it for more than a week.  
“Did you like it?” He listens to him ask. And yes, he liked it very much, but he's not going to let his little brother's ego go up in the clouds either. Of course. 

“You defend yourself, Sammy," he replies with pretended disinterest, "you'll do better after I teach you a little thing or two, but that'll be another time. I remind you that we have things to do.”

Sam pushes himself inside once more, pulling out a surprised gasp, and then, doing nothing to disguise that self-sufficient giggle, he withdraws from inside, leaving him with a heartbreaking sense of emptiness. 

“Whatever you say, master. Come on, get dressed” And the little bastard dares to spank him while he laughs. 

They pick up the clothes without looking at them, otherwise they probably wouldn't put them on and they dress in a comfortable silence. The girl knows that now, she must retire and so she prepares to do it, right after taking a last look. Her face becomes disfigured when she realizes that Sam is staring at her side. When his glances cross, a crafty and satisfied smile appears on the face of the chestnut, which after winking at her, turns to his brother demanding his lips again. 

The end


End file.
